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BETWEEN THE ICE AND SKY
SWEDEN
Swedish Lapland is typically visited by travellers in the inky depths of midwinter, but a later
season known locally as ‘spring-winter’ provides a glittering backdrop against which to engage
with the lives and traditions of Europe’s last indigenous people, the Sámi. Words: Ellen Himelfarb
The most effective cure I’ve yet to experience for the
late-winter blues is the Arctic’s spectacular, pervasive
whiteness. In Swedish Lapland, with the landscape still
trapped beneath a blanket of snow, it’s all you can see. By
day, snowflakes glitter from the sun’s doting attention
— a serious serotonin boost.
Tonight, I’m chasing that high on the frozen Råne River,
where a ‘floating sauna’ cabin is gripped by metre-thick ice.
It’s an outpost of Aurora Safari Camp, an off-grid cluster of
glass-topped, conical cabins and heated yurts (the latter
known as ‘lavvu’ by the region’s Indigenous Sámi people)
which sleep just 10 guests. With its paired-back luxuries and
abhorrence of artificial light, the camp is designed to thrust
travellers into the elements. Which is how I find myself
climbing out of my winter layers in frigid temperatures and
groping my way into the sauna’s candlelit interior.
I fill a bucket with water from the wood-burning stove,
splash it over the hot rocks, and feel the vapour fill my
lungs and expand my pores. Reclining on the cedarwood
bench, I wonder what toxins could possibly still need
clearing out of my system, given my newfound, wholesome
diet of clean air, sunshine and grilled reindeer. If I were
a Swede, it would be a rite of passage to next plunge into
the pool axed out of the ice just outside. Padding out onto
the deck, I dip a toe into the freezing water and decide I’m
not quite hardy enough — yet. Instead, I scoop up some
ice water with the bucket and pour it over my head. In the
absence of any actual electricity, I feel positively charged.
In the distance, a wash of light has settled on the
horizon, as if from a nearby megacity. Yet here in Lapland’s
Råne River Valley, Stockholm is some 600 miles away
to the south. As the white glow brightens and flickers, I
realise the Northern Lights have come to dance behind a
sprinkling of stars, tinting yellow then lava-lamp green as
they swirl over the shadowy treetops. Spellbound, I sink
into a snow-covered bench and watch the show, all of a
sudden barely feeling the cold.
The bracing Arctic air is addictive, drawing me into the
subzero outdoors. In the morning Aurora’s co-founder
Jonas Gejke arrives on snowmobile and asks if I want
to drive. I nearly crush him in my excitment to climb
aboard. Together, we cross the frozen Råne, following a
trail marked by hand-painted signs. We snake through
birch forest, then gently climb to the summit of Snipen
Hill for a panorama of spruce greens and icy blues that’s
barely distinguishable from the sky. Pushing 4 0mph on
the descent, the path opens up and we glide onto a solid,
springwater lake.
The Swedish have a saying, Jonas tells me. When it’s
really freezing, we “stand in the middle of our clothes”.
Today, though, is something else entirely. The sun is high,
fierce and unfiltered in late February — a distinct part of
late winter known locally as ‘spring-winter’. Jonas kills
the engine and stretches back on the snowmobile with his
boots resting on the handlebars. “People don’t know what
they’re missing when they come at Christmastime,” Jonas
says, “with four-hour days, at 20 below.”
A similar joy at the season is shared by the fishermen we
meet who’ve just caught three Arctic char through holes in
the ice, and by the Sámi family picnicking upon bearskins
at a bend in the river. Glee even seems to be radiating from a
reindeer calf we spot grazing in a sun-dappled glade. It’s the
perfect spring-winter tableau, Jonas agrees.
Reindeer are all around — every time you venture out it’s
almost impossible to avoid spotting a few of the estimated
260,00 0 that roam Swedish Lapland. But driving north
from the camp, sightings become even more commonplace.
An hour away, having crossed into the Arctic Circle,
Jonas stops by the home of Lars Eriksson, a Sámi elder.
The Northern Lights dance
behind the stars, tinting yellow
then lava-lamp green as they
swirl over the treetops
JUNE 2022 71
SCANDINAVIA
